The Third Room
by Dem0nFl0wer
Summary: Quatre wheeled the luggage to a stop alongside the wall, looking in through the open bathroom door to where Mr. Maxwell was pulling panty hose onto long, toned legs, up underneath the tightest black tube dress he had ever seen.


I've been told I have a really macabre sense of humor, so you may or may not find this funny. It's based on my favorite sketch in Quentin Tarantino's Four Rooms. 

Warnings: Yaoi, as usual, language, drugs, porn, and a dead prostitute… 

The Third Room

Quatre adjusted the small cap that threatened to fall off his head, thinking there was no way he was going to pull on that elastic chin strap thing. It was bad enough having to work as a bellhop, he didn't want to look like a total dork while doing it. He had been called up to two rooms already over the course of the day, and hell knew he had had enough. Witches´ covens and and kidnapping scenarios were not his cup of tea...and God, could he use some of that right now. Tea, that is. Goddamn Chang, taking off on the full moon, everyone knew that's when the freaks came out.

Just then, a couple came in, followed by two children.

"Heero Yuy." One of the men stated, coming up to the desk. He glared at Quatre, who resisted the urge to eep. Quatre fished through the keys behind the counter, looking for Mr.Yuy's keys, all the while ogling the eye candy attached to Yuy's arm. Sleepy, violet eyes gazed back at him, eyelashes dropped demurely, and he realized he was being all too blatant about staring when Yuy grabbed his collar and lifted him two feet off the ground.

"My keys."

"Yes, sir," Quatre managed to spit out, dropping the keys with a small `clang´ into Yuy's open palm. Yuy let go of Quatre's collar, sending him sprawling on the ground, as he took a hold of his husband's waist and led his family to the elevator. 

"Make sure our luggage is in our room within fifteen minutes," he commanded as he walked away. Quatre looked over to the massive amount of bags the valet had just bought in, sighing to himself. It wouldn't do Chang harm to hire some more help. He picked up the phone, calling his manager's house.

"Hellooo?" drawled out a slow, low voice. Mellow, yeah, mellow like the drugs that were probably going around there. Quatre could practically smell the pot through the telephone wires.

"Is Wufei Chang there?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Who?"

"Wufei Chang."

"Che, sorry, man, I don't know any Wufei..."

Quatre's right eyebrow was twitching. "You're in his goddamn house right now!"

Just then the phone must have been wrenched from the stoner's hands, and Chang came on the line.

"Chang here."

"Mr.Chang, this is Quatre. I'm just telling you that as soon as I take the luggage up to room 412, I'm leaving for the day."

"Quatre, no! I need you there, what if one of the guests need something?"

"Fuck them! The guests here need more help than I'm certified to give!"

"Wait, room 412, the Yuy-Maxwells? You have to stay, Quatre, they're one of our richest clients."

"Let me tell you about my day so far. First, I was seduced and jerked off by a witch-"

"Was she ugly?"

"No, actually, she was quite attractive, but-"

"I fail to see what the problem is, then."

"Okay, so that had been one of the more pleasant moments of the day. But then I'm called up to this room, and I don't know what was going on, some couple was acting out a little role playing scene, bondage-"

"Did you join in?"

"Stop interrupting me! And no, I most certainly not joined it. The point is, when I left that room, through the window I might add, I had been shot at several times, and now I am just half a disaster away from going ZERO SYSTEM!!!"

"Okay, Quatre, calm down..."

Just then the beeping of the motel switchboard went off.

"Quatre, is that room 412? Pick it up."

Quatre reached over and picked up the switchboard phone, hearing a curt `five minutes´ before the line went dead.

"Fuck, I've got to get Yuy's shit up to him. He'll probably kill me if I don't."

"Probably, the guy's in the mafia."

"What?!"

Quatre grabbed his chest, trying not to hyperventilate. "Okay, Mr.Chang, I've got to go." 

He hung up the phone and ran over to the luggage, wheeling it to the elevator and up to the fourth floor. He knocked at the door, freezing when it flung open and to reveal an irate Heero Yuy, pointed a .45 at him.

"Oh, it's just you."

Quatre gulped nervously as Heero gestured, with his gun, to come inside. Quatre wheeled the luggage to a stop alongside the wall, looking in through the open bathroom door to where Mr. Maxwell was pulling panty hose onto long, toned legs, up underneath the tightest black tube dress he had ever seen. Suddenly, he was slammed against the wall, Heero Yuy holding his arm in a vise-like grip.

"We're going out. You will stay here, and look after our children."

"Excuse me?"

Heero only glared at him and tightened his grip on his arm. 

"Of course, Mr.Yuy."

Heero nodded, satisfied, as Quatre looked at the children. They were sitting on the bed, and had obviously been watching TV before, but were now staring at him with blank expressions on their faces. The girl had long dark brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and violet eyes, while the boy had short chestnut hair and dark blue eyes. They both had fair skin, and looked like little dolls you might find in the porcelain section of the toy store, except they looked...somewhat evil. For lack of a better word.

"Oh, they look like angels," he lied to Yuy, hoping to put him in a better mood, therefore lessening the chances of an early death and increasing the chances of a bigger tip.

Heero snorted. "They're hell scum."

There was a noise in the bathroom, and Heero called out. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, baby, just a second."

Then Maxwell sashayed out of the bathroom, taking position at Heero´s side. Heero led him to the door, where he turned his head to address his children one last time. "You brats play nice, understand?"

"Listen to your daddy, Nia, Solo," Maxwell called over his shoulder. "We love you."

And then the door slammed shut, and Quatre found himself staring down two little children.

"Look," he said, "why don't you two stay here and watch TV? I'm going back to the front desk."

Nia and Solo nodded mutely, turning their heads back to face the television screen. Quatre left the room, returning back to his post. That wasn't so bad. He had just gotten situated when the switchboard lit up, room 412. 

"Damn brats," he mumbled, as he lifted the phone. "What is it?"

"We want to play," said a commanding female voice.

Quatre wondered how they knew to call the front desk. "Watch TV."

"There's nothing good on."

"Well, that's not my problem, is it?"

"If you don't play with us, we'll tell Daddy."

Quatre gulped. "Fine."

He made his way back to the room, where the children were in the exact same positions he had seen them in last, except Solo was holding a bottle of liquor.

"Where did you get that?" Quatre exclaimed, gesturing to the vodka. Solo pointed to the liquor cabinet, freshly picked open, looking at Quatre with a genuinely innocent look on his face. Quatre walked over to the bed, where he snatched the bottle out of Solo's little hands. He put in on the dresser. "Now, let's find something good on TV."

Quatre picked up the remote from the nightstand, flipping through the channels.

"Something smells in here," said Solo.

"It's your socks," Nia calmly answered, as Solo wriggled his toes around in the yellowish cotton. "Take them off."

Solo did as his older sister said, padding to the bathroom to deposit his socks on the floor there. He grabbed the bottle of vodka on his way back, taking a gulp and sniffing the air as he sat down. Quatre dropped the remote on the floor and grabbed the bottle away from Solo, walking over to put in on a shelf that was out of the boy's reach.

"It still smells," Solo stated.

Quatre sighed. "It's just your imagination."

"No," said Nia, "I smell it too."

She sniffed around for a while, lowering herself off of the bed to the floor. "It's coming from the bed."

She was about to look under the bed when Quatre walked closer to her, stepping on the remote. The TV screen fuzzed a little, before an image came out of the snow. It was a boy, with short hair that fell in a bang across one eye, undulating and writing in an erotic dance.

"Wow," said Nia, pausing in her actions, "let's watch this."

"Children your age shouldn't be watching porn," said Quatre, eyes riveted to the screen. He'd have to find out the name of this production sometime. He pressed the buttons on the remote, and some on the TV, but he couldn't get the television to change the channel, so he settled for just turning the thing off.

"I found something!" Solo shouted. By this time he had joined his sister in searching under the bed. He pulled out a dirty plastic bag, which Quatre promptly took from him. Quatre opened the bag and shook the contents out onto the floor, cringing at the periphenilia that came tumbling out. A used syringe, a lighter, a spoon...the only thing missing was the drug itself. 

"Don't touch that!" he said, slapping Nia's hand away from the syringe. He heard a crash, and looked around him. Solo had pulled a chair up to the shelf, obtaining the vodka bottle while spilling half of its contents all over the curtains and rug.

"Shit," he said, grabbing the bottle and putting it back on the dresser. Solo leapt to the floor, picking up the lighter that was lying there.

"Pretty," he said, flicking the flame on and off. Quatre was about to do something when he smelled it, a reeking stench coming from the bed. He slowly stepped closer to the bed, sniffing the air, then proceeded to throw back the mattress. His eyes widened, as he took in the sight of black stilettos, purple fishnet stockings, and gaudy, blood-encrusted undergarments. His eyes watered at the stench that was now overwhelming, and he took a step away from the corpse.

"We should get her help," suggested Nia, obviously not realizing the girl was already dead.

Quatre stumbled to the phone, calling 911. Solo, in the meanwhile, had gone to reclaim his vodka bottle, still holding onto the lighter. After he got his liquor he turned on the television, watching in interest as the scantily clad dancer wriggled about. Nia kept tugging on Quatre's shirt, trying to get his attention.

"...no, I will not hold....Quatre Winner, I work at Regal Hotels, I...No, I told you, I will not hold! THERE IS A DEAD HOOKER IN ONE OF MY HOTEL ROOMS!"

Quatre looked at the phone. They had hung up, and he was getting a headache...what the hell was he going to do with a dead hooker? Yuy was going to have him killed. He leaned down, grabbed one of the girl's legs, and pulled, hard, determined to get the whore out of the mattress, out of the room, and into an alley where she belonged.

"What are you doing?" questioned Nia, watching Quatre try to pull out the lady's leg. "You're hurting her! Stop it!"

Nia looked around and saw the syringe. She grabbed it, and drove it deep into Quatre's arm, shouting. "LET GO OF HER!!"

Quatre screamed, stumbling back a few steps to tumble over Solo, knocking the lighter out of the little boy's hand, right into the alcohol soaked curtains...

* * *

Heero stepped through the revolving doors of the hotel, his husband slumped against his side. Duo always did have a tendency to get dead drunk at these kinds of functions, and tonight was no exception. Heero, tired of dragging Duo's body across the floor, picked him up and flung the boy over his shoulder. Duo moaned, and Heero realized he would have a hell of a hangover tomorrow. He stopped outside the door to their room, glad he could finally get some rest. 

Heero opened the door...and promptly dropped Duo onto the floor with a loud thud. The scene was frozen in front of him, three pairs of wide eyes turned towards him in surprise and fear. The bellhop was holding on to the leg of a dead prostitute, a syringe sticking out of his arm, while his daughter was screaming at the man to let go. There was porno on the television. His son was drinking vodka. And all the while, raging flames roared in the background, burning the curtains and wall.

Quatre stared at Yuy, like a deer caught in the headlights. This could not look good. 

~owari~


End file.
